


sharing mine with you

by Mr_Phich



Series: everyone needs a chance to be small [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Clint Needs a Hug, Daddy!Steve, Diapers, Established Relationship, Food Issues, Hurt Clint, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Non-Sexual Age Play, Phil Tries Really Hard - Freeform, Psychological Trauma, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Sharing a Bed, Steve Likes to Help People, Wetting, little!Clint, relationships are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Phich/pseuds/Mr_Phich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Steve learn to share.<br/>(Clint manages to put up with both of them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is more a collection of one shots than a cohesive story, but they’re thematic. They vary in length from 3 -10 pages. Updates twice a week. They’re all set in the months following Phil’s return, while he and Steve figure shit out. They both mess up sometimes.

_Sharing by Shel Silverstein_

 

_I’ll share your toys, I’ll share you money,_

_I’ll share you toast, I’ll share your honey,_

_I’ll share your milk and your cookies too -_

_The hard part’s sharing mine with you._

  


It was hard to turn off the jealous side of him, Steve found. For the entirety of Clint and his relationship, he had been Clint’s biggest (and at times only) ally. He’d fought hard to support Clint during one of the most difficult times of his life.

And it didn’t feel fair.

Clint and Coulson fell into each other with such natural ease. Clint looked happier and brighter, he bubbled over with enthusiasm at having Coulson back. Steve didn’t begrudge him that - Coulson had been a missing piece in Clint’s life as long as Steve had known him. It was as if Clint had been walking around without his arm and suddenly got it back. 

And it left Steve floundering.

He didn’t know where his part in Clint’s life was, anymore, he really didn’t. Though he knew that Clint and Coulson had never played, he didn’t know why that was. Maybe Clint would want Coulson to take over for Steve now. Steve didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t be Clint’s Daddy. Some days, the knowledge that Clint was relying on him was all that got him out of bed in the morning. It was the truth he held close to his bones, late at night when the ice came for him.

And now he just didn’t know. He tried to stay out of their way, sure that he was not welcome in that part of Clint’s life. For all that Clint and he had agreed they wanted to keep playing, Steve didn’t feel sure of anything, leaving him feeling unsettled in his skin. He spent a lot of time in the gym, trying to punch or run his way from those feelings. 

It all left him feeling a bit lonely, too. It wasn’t that he wasn’t close friends with his other teammates, but he and Clint were _very_ close - whether Clint was big or little. They shared everything.

“You’ve been hiding,” Clint’s voice accused, surprising Steve out of his running stupor. He jerked and stepped off the treadmill (he usually prefered running outside, but he was trying to help Tony develop a machine that could keep up with him for the winter months.) 

“What?” Steve asked, wiping his face down with a towel.

“Hiding,” Clint was angry, body a line of tense muscle where he leaned, faux casual, against the wall. “You. Why?”

“I’ve not been hiding,” Steve argued.

Clint frowned at him and Steve fidgeted, rubbing his hands on his legs nervously.

“You have. You’ve been holed up here all day. Did you not realize it’s dinner time?” Steve startled and looked down at his watch. Wow. Well at least he could tell Tony his latest prototype was a success - he’d been going for hours.

“ _And_ ,” Clint stressed, eyes stormy, “It’s Friday. I came up and you weren’t there.” _Oh shit_ , Steve thought. He could hear the hurt in Clint’s voice, and no wonder. Friday was their play day, always (unless the world was ending).

“I wasn’t sure -” Steve mumbled.

“You weren’t sure,” Clint said, deathly still, “You weren’t sure. I offered to break up with Phil for you.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I just - I…” He didn’t know how to explain the paralyzing fear of losing Clint - it was more than losing a friend. If he lost Clint, in any way, it would be like losing his child. It _would_ be losing his child. He didn’t know if he’d recover.

Clint sighed. “I - it’s okay if you don’t want…” Now Clint sounded hesitant, shy. “If you feel like it’s too much for me to ask...”

“No!” Steve barked in surprise, immediately quieting his voice as Clint flinched back. “No, Clint. Of course not. I don’t want anything to change between us. I love you. I just thought - I dunno, Coulson seemed accepting, and maybe you would want him to be your Daddy now.” The last part came out as a whispered admission and a desperate plea that it wouldn’t be the truth.

Clint looked up at him with wide eyes. “You’re my Daddy. Phil’s not my Daddy. I don’t want him to be.”

“Oh,” Steve said, heart settling. “Oh.”

“When I went up - I thought you had decided. That you’d changed your mind, that you didn’t want me anymore,” Clint whispered. _Oh god._ Steve scooped his boy into his arms for a giant hug, not knowing what else to say. He’d messed up and Clint was so afraid of being abandoned. Clint shook in his arms, grabbing onto Steve’s shirts with two fists and started to cry.

“Oh, baby. I’m not going anywhere. Daddy’s here to stay.” Steve reassured, whispering into Clint’s ear and gently rocking him side to side.

“I was scared,” Came Clint’s little voice.

“I know,” Steve soothed, “I’m sorry.”

“Daddy,” Clint’s voice was almost too quiet for Steve to hear. 

“Yes, baby?”

“Had accidents this week.” Clint admitted in a tiny whisper, voice quaking with embarrassment.

“Oh, lovebug, why didn’t you have JARVIS call me?”

Clint shrugged and then said, breaking Steve’s heart, “Weren’t sure you would come.”

“Daddy will always come. Always, d’you hear me? There is no where you could go that Daddy wouldn’t follow or wouldn’t come when you called.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Steve swore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This post's a "yay I finished my semester let's update post." From now on I'll post Wednesdays and Saturdays.  
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and kudoing!

It had been three weeks, now, and Clint still refused to spend the night with Phil. His private theory was  that Clint was having some bedwetting issues, but Phil didn’t know where those issues lay anymore. He and Clint had never really talked about them before. Phil could live with a wet bed once every month or so. It wasn’t his favorite thing to wake up wet, but it was one of his favorite things to wake up with Clint sprawled out on top of him. It was a trade off he was willing to make.

Everytime he started working his courage up to ask Clint about it, he remembered the fierce look on Captain Rogers’ face as he said _this part of Clint is mine to protect now_.

Bedwetting was a _little_ thing, surely? And  Rogers had to know, since Clint had revealed that when he was little he shared a bed with Rogers. (Probably still shared a bed with Rogers, Phil thought jealously.) But what if Rogers didn’t and Phil broke Clint’s confidence?

But, as it always did with this issue, the desire to have Clint in bed with him won out. JARVIS, Phil discovered, was great for when you wanted to corner someone on their own. One Thursday afternoon, JARVIS informed him that Captain Rogers was alone in his rooms, while Clint and Natasha were both down in the gym. Phil jumped at his chance and took the elevator down to Rogers’ floor. 

Rogers actually opened the door instead of having JARVIS open it like most people in the tower did. He did seem to be expecting Phil though. He wondered if Rogers had a system,  if he got up because it was Phil.

“Good afternoon, Agent Coulson.”

“Good afternoon, Captain. I was wondering if we could talk? About Clint?”

“Of course, come in.” Rogers said, politely stepping aside. Phil had only been in Rogers’ rooms the once, to watch Clint and Rogers play. It was neater now, though that was to be expected. Any where Clint went spontaneously developed mess and chaos. It was decorated in soft, neutral colors but looked well lived in and welcoming. There were some framed maps and prints on the walls, some by artists Phil recognized, some not so much. “Please sit down. Can I get you anything to drink?” Rogers offered.

Phil sat on the couch, saying “No, thank you.” 

Steve sat down in the adjacent arm chair. The splayed book and half empty mug suggested that was where Steve had been sitting before Phil interrupted him.

“You wanted to talk about Clint?” Rogers prompted after a moment of awkward silence. 

“Yes.” Phil said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not sure how to start. I don’t wish to break Clint’s confidence.”

“Of course.” Rogers said, surprising Phil. Perhaps spitefully he had been thinking that Rogers would claim to know everything about Clint. Rogers also didn’t immediately insist to know why Phil had brought this to him, rather than Clint.

“But… I probably won’t.” Phil said, mostly to reassure himself. “Alright. Clint has refused to spend the night since I returned and to be frank, I am concerned.”

Captain Rogers frowned thoughtfully but didn’t speak.

Phil gathered his courage again and continued, “ _Before_ , Clint used to have an occasional issue with...with bedwetting,” Phil glanced over at Rogers, to try and read surprise. To his relief, Rogers just nodded knowingly. “I thought that perhaps this issue may have increased, given the trauma he went through and that he was, perhaps, embarrassed.”

The captain frowned thoughtfully again, running his hand through his hair. “I also don’t want to, uhm, break confidence, as you said.”

Phil nodded, glad that Captain America’s reputation of honor and integrity seemed to hold true to Rogers and how he treated Clint.

“So I’ll have to talk to Clint before we discuss it further. But, uh, I think you did the right thing, coming to me and not Clint.”

Phil looked over in surprise at that assessment.

“Look, why don’t you come back tonight? Clint’s coming over and we’re going to watch some samurai movie,” Phil couldn’t restrain a chuckle and Rogers grinned back at him, “and we’re ordering thai. We can talk then? And you can join us for that. I can never muster enough enthusiasm for Clint’s liking.”

Phil laughed again, and said, “No, nor can I. That sounds nice, what time should I come by?” 

“Around seven? Yeah, seven should be good. Clint will know your thai order, right?”

Phil really liked that Rogers assumed that. He confirmed it and they said their goodbyes. Phil left feeling more settled than before, which was not what he had expected. So far he had felt like Rogers’ was his adversary, competition for Clint’s time and affection. This had felt more like they were team mates.

 

*

 

Phil returned promptly at seven. Again, the captain let him in. Phil looked around for Clint as he entered.

“He’s hiding in my spare room until we finish talking,” Rogers said, a wry smile on his face.

“I see.” Phil said with a raised eyebrow.

“Why don’t you come into the kitchen, he won’t be able to hear us in there and I’ll finish unpacking the food.”

The kitchen smelled overwhelmingly of thai food. The sheer quantity of food soon explained it.

“Clint and I both trained today,” the captain said ruefully.

Phil shot a little grin his way. Rogers started shifting more boxes from the bag.

“We just eat straight out of the containers while watching the movie,” Rogers said as he collected a stack of napkins and chopsticks. “That alright with you?” 

“Sure,” Phil said, though he usually preferred eating at the table off a plate.

“So. I talked to Clint and got his permission to talk to you,” the captain said, launching right in. “And your guess was spot on. Clint was...well, he had a lot more issues with bedwetting. He told me before it was like once a month?” Phil nodded, suppressing a blush. It was unexpectedly awkward to discuss this with Rogers and to hear Rogers discuss it in such a blase fashion. “Well, uh, it was a lot more than that for quite a while after. It’s just starting to reduce in the last month or two. But, well, it’s kicked up a notch since you came back. Just the strain and stress y’know?”

Phil frowned and shook his head, “Not really, no. I don’t think the...bedwetting increased or especially happened when he was stressed, before.” 

“Oh,” Rogers said, frowning too. He leaned against the counter and took a sip of water, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I guess that could have been because of Loki. Loki really screwed with his body and mind, so that definitely could have shifted things.” 

Phil nodded, but he wanted to ask more questions. When he’d gone down, Clint had still been under Loki’s control. He’d gotten the briefing of how the mind control was broken, but the file had simply read that Clint’s handler would be in charge of tracking recovery. And Phil had been Clint’s handler and the Avengers hadn’t had a handler… so who had been looking after Clint, looking for the signs of something going horribly wrong?

Rogers seemed to sense some of this inner turmoil, because he placed a reassuring hand on Phil’s shoulder and said, “He’s better now. Not exactly the same, but better.”

Phil nodded briskly and took the glass of water offered to him, taking a few quick sips to ease his tight throat.

“Anyway,” Rogers said, voice crisp, “Yes, Clint is having some bedwetting issues, and yes he is embarrassed about them. We’re working on that. And the bedwetting. But I think you’re just gonna have to be patient with him. I tried to tell him that it would be fine, that you guys could figure something out, but he really doesn’t want to discuss it with you right now.” Rogers’ face creased into discomfort and minor disapproval. There it was again, the sense that Rogers was on his side - his teammate. In what, Phil couldn’t really say, but Rogers did seem to want Clint to talk to Phil about this, to spend the night and all.

“I appreciate you giving it a try, Captain.”

“Sorry I couldn’t convince him. I’ll keep at it and keep you in the loop, as much as feels right. And Agent Coulson,” Rogers said, picking up two stacks of boxes and heading towards the living room, “Please call me Steve.” 

“Only if you call me Phil.”

 

*

 

It was another couple weeks before their was any progress on Clint spending the night, though there was plenty of progress in the rest of Phil’s life. He was officially back to work at SHIELD and Steve had shifted most of his team leader duties into Phil’s handler job description. There were a couple things that Steve refused to give on and a couple surprises had still laid in wait for Phil. 

_“Alright, that should be just about everything,” Phil said, going through the stacks of paperwork Steve had given over to him. They had spent most of the day in the Avengers HQ (as the team called it) in the top three floors of Stark’s tower going over the paperwork in excruciating detail._

_“But I’m missing the evaluations and assessments on the team members.”_

_“Oh,” Steve had said, and pulled out a very small file and handed it over. Phil flipped it open. The first sheet held Stark’s eval, a single sheet which simply stated whether Stark was cleared for active duties and what type of duties fell in his domain._  

 _Phil frowned up at Steve, “But these are just the formal evaluations. Don’t you keep more detailed assessments?”_  

_“Yes.” Steve nodded but didn’t move._

_“Do you not have copies here?”_

_Steve frowned, and said, “No.  I also don’t intend to give them to you.”_

_“What?” Phil demanded._

_“You have my formal evaluations, which is all the information you need. And we’ve already agreed that I get last say on mission assignments, so…” Steve sort of shrugged. He was clearly trying to look casual, but there was a fierce and familiar set to his features._

_“How am I supposed to handle a team if I don’t have assessments of their functioning?” Phil demanded, starting to grow angry._  

_“You have mission reports and these,” Steve tapped the evals pointedly. “My personal assessments are confidential.”_

_“Will you let me run my own assessments?”_

_“No.”_

_“Captain Rogers, I cannot do my job if you will not let me.”_

_“This is the way I run my team. They have to trust me and they will not trust me if I do not do right by them. These are private, troubled people. They all have their own issues and difficulties and none of them want those down in a file somewhere. It’s not and shouldn’t be related to their work. If I have concerns, I bench them. They don’t get cleared on their eval. That’s final.”_

_“And if I have concerns?” Phil asked with narrowed eyes. He did not want to respect Steve in that moment, he wanted to be angry and handle the team like he had always handled teams in the past. He did not want to be grateful that this was how Steve handled Clint and Natasha, goddammit._

_“You can bring them to me.” Steve said firmly, arms crossed over his chest. The set to his face and shoulders said he was not going to argue anymore about this._

_“And what about you? Is anyone assessing your functioning, Captain?”_

_Steve just nodded, “Natasha is in charge of my assessments. She is held to the same policy, but you may, of course, speak to her if you have concerns.”_

_Phil fumed under his breath while flipping through the assessments. He paused and grew angry all over again._

_“Why isn’t Clint cleared for missions?! You can’t let your personal relationship get in the way of Clint doing his job.  Clint is one of the best assets we have!”_

_“Clint_ **_was_ ** _one of the best assets you had,” Steve said quietly, but firmly, effectively take the air out of Phil’s sails._

_“What?”_

_“I told you he wasn’t the same after Loki,” Steve said, running his hand through his hair and staring down at the pile of paperwork. He looked distressed, the first time that Phil had ever seen him look that way. “Clint is no longer capable of solo work, undercover work, assassinations, or interrogations. If he goes on missions, it is always as a watch, and it is always with Natasha. SHIELD did not - will not - respect these boundaries, so I took him out of the field altogether.”_

_Phil gaped._

_“And yes, he hated me for it. He raged at me for hours and tried to convince me of everything that you are going to try and convince me of - that Clint has been working solo and deep undercover ops since he was twenty, that aside from Natasha he is one of the best assassins in the world, that he is capable of emotional compartmentalization, rationality and restraint.”_

_“All of that is true!” Phil demanded. He knew how important Clint’s work was to him, he had always known it. Clint lived and breathed the prowl._  

_“Yes and no.”  Steve sat up and leaned closer to Phil, blue eyes burning. “The first mission he went on after Loki? It was an interrogation. There wasn’t even torture, just threats. Clint didn’t eat the entire time they were tracking the guy down. When he got back he didn’t eat for another week. Clint said it was a one off and SHIELD sent him back out, this time on an assassination. Guy was bad news, Phil. I would have taken the shot, if I had been there. Child trafficking ring, this perp was the leader. Clint couldn’t take the shot. He puked. He had such a bad panic attack they had to sedate him. So I benched him and he’s staying benched until I know he can do the job without hurting himself.”_

_Phil leaned back, trying to remember how to breathe again._

_“When?” Phil didn’t know why he wanted to know._

_“The first incident was about a month after Loki, the second was  at the second month mark. There weren’t a lot of missions because SHIELD was still rebuilding. But it was after the second one that I...that I found out how bad things were for Clint. About two months later I took over the handling of all of the team members.” Steve scoffed and shook his head, looking angrier than Phil had ever seen him. “They sent Bruce in on undercover work, which of course went FUBAR. So I was going over all the old paperwork, to make sure and found Clint’s missions. I didn’t want to bench him Phil. We ran training simulations and I sent him out on easy missions with Natasha. He couldn’t do it. I had no choice.”_

_“Fuck.” Phil breathed._

_“Yeah.” Steve agreed._

So of course, Phil had come around to Steve’s way of thinking on both matters. The assessments stayed private, Steve promised to continue to work with Clint on eventually getting out in the field in some capacity, and Phil agreed to keep him on the bench.

At least with Natasha, it was business as usual.

The Avengers had their own missions as a team or in smaller groups, but they were showy and hard hitters, so their particular brand of … justice only came out in certain situations. For the undercover work needed to gather relevant information, they relied on SHIELD agents. Which was fine with Phil. He took back his other agents and got them in the field with Natasha again and soon it would be like nothing had ever changed.

Phil was on the communal floor, finalizing some paperwork for an upcoming mission when Clint wandered over and plopped down next to him. Subtly, Phil flipped the file shut. Clint was still sensitive about being benched.

“So, uh,” Clint mumbled, “I was thinking you could spend the night tonight?”

“Yeah?” Phil asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Yeah.” Clint agreed.

Despite his agreement, Clint was visibly nervous that night. He’d insisted on spending the night in his quarters. After some, well, rigorous activity, Phil had turned over and shut the lights off, falling easily back into their old patterns. But Clint jumped out of bed with a muttered be right back and slipped into the bathroom. He then repeated this action every half hour for the next two hours.

Finally, Phil, feeling Clint preparing to get out bed again, turned over and spooned him, holding him tight to the bed.

“Stop worrying. It’s fine. I don’t care. Just want you here with me.”

Clint slowly relaxed back into Phil’s arms. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Promise.”

For all the drama, they woke up perfectly dry. Clint didn’t spend the night every night after that, but it slowly increased until it was most days of the week. Phil knew that on the weekend (starting Friday night) Clint stayed with Steve and played, but Phil got him the rest of the week, so that was easier to handle. 

 

Of course, given everything Steve had said, the dry nights couldn’t last. They’d fallen asleep early, which was probably the first mistake, after sharing a bottle of wine, which was definitely the second mistake. Phil woke in the middle of the night. At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him. He started to shift into a more comfortable position, with every intent of going back to sleep, when he felt it. The side of his pajamas were definitely wet and there was a wet patch on the bed. Phil sat up and gently shook Clint’s shoulder. 

Clint came awake slowly. “Phil?” 

“You’re wet,” Phil said softly. Clint shot up, hands immediately going to his lap to confirm what Phil had said. Clint collapsed into himself. “Clint, it’s fine. Just go shower, I’ll get the bed, okay?”

“...I need Steve.” Clint whispered. Phil barely heard him and didn’t want that to have been what Clint had said. He and Clint could handle this - they had before and they could do it tonight.

“What?” Phil asked.

“Need Steve.” There was a tremble in his voice that time, and okay, Clint was definitely moving towards Steve’s Clint now.

“JARVIS?” Phil prompted, hoping that he had disguised his panic but thinking that he probably hadn’t. Clint’s breath hitched a little.

“Captain Rogers is on his way.” JARVIS confirmed a moment later.

“Okay, Clint?” Phil said, trying to be reassuring, but no longer sure what to do in this situation. “Steve is coming. He’s coming right now.”

Clint’s breath just hitched a little more.

Luckily, Phil didn’t have much more time to panic in. The front door opened and a moment later, Steve was standing in the bedroom door. He’d clearly been asleep too, his hair was tousled and he was wearing just a pair of pajama pants.

“Phil is it alright if I come in?” Steve asked in a rush.

“Of course,” Phil said in an equally rushed voice, waving Steve in. Steve hurried in and crouched by Clint’s side of the bed. Clint’s shoulders shook.

“It’s okay bud,” Steve said in a very gentle tone, “No one’s mad. We knew this would happen sometime, didn’t we? And it’s alright.”

Clint started crying. Phil stared. He’d never, not in the entirety of their relationship together, seen Clint cry. Not when he was rescued from a week of torture. Not when Natasha had to put his shoulder back in the socket in the field, with nothing but a bottle of booze to numb the pain. Not even when Natasha had almost died. Clint could get all the way through a panic attack without shedding a single tear. But there he was, crying into his hands because of a wet bed.

Steve did not seem to share Phil’s shock. He just gathered Clint into his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed with Clint in his lap and kept whispering reassurances.

Finally, (finally), Clint’s tears started to clear and he started to calm.

“Clint,” Steve prompted (in an annoyingly steady voice), “You have a couple choices right now. You can be big, and go shower, and spend the rest of the night with Phil. You can be big and shower, but ask Phil to go home for tonight. Or you can be little and come back with me. I’ll give you a bath and put you to bed. But in the morning we have training with the team, so you’ll need to be big, okay? Take a couple minutes to think about it.”

Phil kind of hated Steve for how good he was at this. How his voice stayed steady and unwavering. How he seemed to honestly not mind that he was getting covered in urine and snot. How he came up with those choices for Clint like it was nothing. How he just took control of the entire situation, no fear whatsoever.

Finally, Clint whispered “Be big with Phil.” Phil’s heart leaped. He hadn’t thought there was any chance of that being the choice. He had thought that Clint would choose being little and with Steve.

“Okay,” Steve said, voice still just as calm and steady, as if he honestly did not care one way or the other. Steve set Clint down. “Go take a shower, Phil and I will get the bed and I’ll be gone by the time you get out, okay?”

Clint gave Steve a fierce, quick hug and mumbled something that sounded like “Thanks you’re the best I love you." 

Steve laughed. “Love you too, pal.” He gently pushed Clint towards the bathroom.

Phil didn’t know what he felt about that exchange, so he decided not to think about it. He got up off the bed. Steve and he stripped the bed in silence, revealing a plastic mattress cover (which must have been the reason they always slept at Clint’s place) which Steve wiped down with a washcloth he pulled out of Clint’s bedside table. 

Steve was just a little bit too familiar with this entire routine, Phil decided. Steve gathered the linens up and finally spoke to Phil, “I’m gonna take these up to my room. I have my own washer and dryer and Clint doesn’t like to send ‘em to the cleaning service. There are more sheets in the linen closet.”

Was that really all he was going to say?

“I’ve never seen Clint cry before,” Phil admitted, holding the quilt out to Steve who added it to his pile.

Steve looked up in surprise. Honest to goodness surprise, like Clint just went around crying all the time. “Oh. He’s okay. He was embarrassed I think, and he always gets upset. Mostly I think he wanted to know I’d come if he needed me. It’s uh, something we’re struggling with right now.”

Steve looked a little embarrassed to reveal that, like somehow his relationship should be perfect. Phil was glad it wasn’t. The answer didn’t address Phil’s real question, but maybe Steve didn’t know how to answer it. Maybe Clint did cry with Steve, maybe that was a part of Clint that Steve held.

 

But.

Steve had held Clint for just as long as he needed it. He hadn’t taken Clint from Phil, he’d just put him back together again and given him back to Phil. 

“Thanks for everything.”

“Course,” Steve said with a yawn.

“I’ll let you get back to bed.” 

Steve gave a sleepy smile. “Don’t be afraid to call me if anything comes up, anytime.”

Phil could do that.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Steve emerged from the pool area of the gym, toweling his hair, just having finished a post-training swim. Phil was waiting for him. _What was it with those two?_ Steve asked, remembering when Clint had cornered him in the gym just a few weeks ago.

“You’re not hard enough on him,” Phil said, steely eyed. Steve went to answer but Phil waved him quiet. “I know he’s not the same. I know he struggles. But if he can’t push his limit here, among friends, then when can he?”

Protective instinct surged. “I don’t want to -”

“You’re letting your relationship get in the way of your training.”

“I am not,” Steve insisted, “You weren’t there, you didn’t see -”

“Of course I didn’t,” Phil stated, still eerily calm. “But I’m here now and I’m telling you what I see now.”

Steve frowned and tried to leave.

“You can’t protect him forever.” Phil said, voice full of judgement. Steve flinched. 

“I can damn well try.” 

“Do you think that’s what he wants? To be coddled in this tower the rest of his life? Because you’re deluding yourself.” 

A cold fist seemed to have grabbed Steve’s heart. That wasn’t what he was doing. He was just trying to protect Clint because Clint was everything. 

“You’re not his Dad in this room,” Phil sounded snide, and maybe Steve was just imagining that because he was angry but maybe he wasn’t.

“I’m his dad in every room,” Steve whirled back on Phil, shouting now. “You think I’m not his dad on every single battle field or on every mission? Do you think I can just turn that off? Because I can’t.”

Phil looked a little softer, at that, but Steve wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

"He is my little boy every single second of every single day and I won’t turn it off because you don’t like it!” He roared.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Phil rebutted, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I can’t turn off being his lover or partner, either. I don’t want him to get hurt, of course not. But the best way for Clint to stay safe is for him to be able to keep himself safe. We can’t always be there.”

Steve shook his head, not sure if he was denying or rejecting what Phil was saying. He couldn’t push Clint. It didn’t matter if he believed what Phil was saying or not, when Clint stood in front of him to spar or train all he saw was his little boy, trembling in his arms after a nightmare. He saw the scars on his back of violence almost as old as Clint was. He saw Clint in a hospital bed, a tube up his nose because he was refusing to eat after a mission gone wrong. He saw Clint asleep in the middle of his bed, thumb in his mouth and blanket tucked up under his chin.

“I can’t.” Steve said. The room seemed too silent now, with his anger gone. A sort of eerie stillness had fallen over the place.

“You have to,” Phil insisted.

“No,” Steve negated. “I mean, I know what you’re saying is right. But I _can’t_. It’s different for you. You love him as an adult. He’s strong and independent, that’s what you see. I don’t see that.” Steve rubbed a tired hand over his face. He wanted to do right by Clint. He always wanted to do right by Clint, in every area of the man’s life. And he’d tried, he had. He knew what Phil was saying was right, thought he’d probably known it for a while. He didn’t know how to balance Hawkeye, capable and brave, and Clint, needy and scared.

“Maybe I should take over his training.” Phil said, tone almost gentle. “Just for a while.”

“I - yes.” Steve said. He felt weak and useless and like he’d wronged the person that mattered the most to him. He escaped before Phil could say anything else. 

He stayed in his room the rest of the day. He told himself that he was definitely not moping as he turned on the TV and flopped on the couch. His stomach growled and there was food in the fridge, but he didn’t get up. What if he’d set Clint back months by not training him properly? What if the times Clint had gotten hurt were his fault? If he’d just been able to push through, to separate his life properly - well.

At some point, he fell asleep, the litany of what ifs following him into dreamland, where Clint accused him of being too soft and getting him killed, of not doing right by him, of being a bad Daddy and a bad team leader. The dream shifted and Steve was reaching for a hand that was simultaneously Bucky’s and Clint’s.    

He gasped awake, shivering, as the door burst open to reveal a furious Clint. It was just like the beginning of his dream.

“Why the hell is Phil training me now?” Clint demanded, hands rolled up into angry fists, “What, am I not good enough for the rest of the team now? Is this your way of telling me I’m totally benched?”

“What?” Steve asked, confused. This was not how the dream had gone. “Of course not! Phil and I -”

“And since when do you and Phil talk when I’m not there, huh? Because that’s really fucking not cool! Maybe if you too stopped gossiping for a minute, you’d have noticed I smashed training today.”

“It’s me!” Steve interrupted, voice loud. Clint stopped, blinking, eyes puzzled. Steve put his face in his hands. “I haven’t been doing good by you."

Steve felt the pillows shift as Clint sat down next to him.

“That’s bullshit. You do great by me. Is that what Phil was saying, because he doesn’t know what it’s been like -”

“No, no he’s right,” Steve turned to look at Clint’s warm, puzzled eyes. “I haven’t been pushing you hard enough in training. You smashed it because it’s too easy.”

“Is that what’s got you all knotted up?” Clint asked, relaxing slightly. 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, feeling pathetic. 

“Steve, I would have asked for more if I felt ready. But it’s...it’s been scary.” Clint said quietly, voice a little shy. “You know how messed up I was after Loki,” Clint shivered and Steve trembled in sympathy and remembrance. It had been horrible. “I was afraid of what my body could do. Of what I had trained it  to do. But you made me - you made me realize my training was good again, that I could help people. And fuck, Phil just got here. He sees me now, and yeah, maybe now I am ready for a little push. But I wasn’t before.”

Steve smiled a little, self loathing unknotting in his belly. “I think Phil sees more than you give yourself credit for. As your trainer it’s my job to push you a little further that you think you can go. I appreciate it, but I think Phil’s right here.”

Clint frowned a little, but didn’t protest. Steve kept talking, “And I can’t push you like that Clint. I get afraid. I can’t lose you.” 

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Clint said firmly, pushing in close to Steve.

“You can’t promise that,” Steve wrapped an arm around Clint, pulling him closer. “But I think that training with Phil will help you stay here with me.” 

“If that’s what you think is best,” Clint murmured, leaning into Steve’s side. “That’s fine. As long as you’re not pulling some self sacrificing shit. You’re my leader and my friend and my daddy and I fucking trust you, all right?” 

Steve laughed a little but trembled deep inside at the trust Clint put in his hands. He didn’t want to mess this up. He didn’t want to let Clint down - not ever.

“Now read me a story.” Clint demanded, definitely still big. Steve laughed, for real this time, and reached for their latest book, a Stephen King novel that Clint said he’d always wanted to read.

Clint sighed and relaxed, and finding where he’d left off, Steve promised himself he’d do better tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm off to see Civil War. I probably won't survive. I (obviously) won't be posting any spoilers or such, but if you are interested in having feels together let me know. ;)  
> As always, thanks for reading, commenting, and kudoing! Y'all are the best.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil and Clint were lying on the couch, watching one of their TV shows. They’d had to catch up (both of them, because Clint couldn’t watch it while Phil was dead) and were just starting to get into the newest season. Suddenly Clint jumped to his feet and bolted for the bathroom. Thinking puke, Phil followed. What he found was Clint standing in a puddle in the middle of their bedroom. When Phil came in, Clint turned to him, eyes wide and face bright red. His entire body folded together, like he could make himself disappear from Phil’s gaze and Phil didn’t know what to do. This had never happened before. At least, not that he knew of.

He couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at Clint, his lover his partner his everything, standing there in urine soaked jeans. This was not wetting the bed. But if bedwetting was Steve’s territory (and it definitely was) then this was too.

“JARVIS, we need Captain Rogers.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clint whimpered but didn’t seem to be able to come up with any words, leaving them standing there, gaping at each other like a bunch of fools until Steve came rushing in. Clint finally made a little noise when Steve came in, but it wasn’t a recognizable word.

Steve didn’t seem to feel the same way, “I know, I know buddy. It’s okay. You’re gonna be just fine.” He gathered Clint into his arms, ignoring the urine the same way he had when Clint had wet the bed for the first time since starting to share it with Phil again. (It had happened a couple times since, but they hadn’t had to call Steve after that first time). He picked Clint up like he weighed nothing at all and swayed side to side, making shushing noises.

Steve turned to Phil, a concerned look in his eye and Clint still clinging to him like a monkey.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. We were watching TV when all of a sudden he got up and rushed in here. I thought he was going to throw up,” Phil admitted, slipping his hands into his pockets and wishing he was anywhere but here.

Steve nodded, like that made total sense. Like Clint just wet himself any old time.

“Shh, lovebug, it’s okay. You’ve been so stressed out, haven’t you, with that mission coming up with Tasha,” Phil started at hearing Steve call Natasha by that personal, private, intimate nickname. He felt like he was back in the first week of being back again, everything a surprise and changed. “But it’s gonna be okay. You’ve been doing so good in training, I know you’re ready.” And god when they got like this it was like Phil wasn’t even in the room

Clint gave a tiny, broken whimper that broke something deep inside Phil. He found himself coming forward and laying a hand on Clint’s back, rubbing gently.

“It’s okay Clint,” He said. “It’s fine. I’m not mad or upset or anything, okay?” Clint tensed momentarily at Phil’s touch but quickly relaxed. Steve gave Phil a small smile.

“See, buddy, we’re all good. Just need to get cleaned up, and it'll be like it never even happened, huh?”

Clint shook his head, “Nuhuh.”

“No?” Steve prompted.

“Need t’be little,” Clint said through sniffles. Steve frowned a little and shifted so he could look Clint in the eye.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get cleaned up and watch TV with Phil?”

Phil was really glad that Clint had found someone like Steve, who never, ever seemed to put himself before anyone, who always tried to get Clint to spend more time with Phil whenever he could.

Clint stared up at Steve for a long moment.

“Be little _and_ watch TV with Phil.”

... _wait, what?_

Even Steve, calm and steady in every situation, seemed surprised by this request.  He blinked down at Clint for a moment, before slowly nodding his head.

“Okay, we can do that. But you have to ask Phil if that’s okay with him.”

Clint turned toward him shyly, blush still painting his cheeks red and eyes cast downward.

“Phil, watch tv with me and Daddy?"

“Alright,” Phil found himself saying, even though he was pretty sure it was not. But...he loved Clint. He loved every part of him. He just didn’t hold all the parts, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be around them, did it?

“Alright,” Steve echoed. “Why don’t we go down to my room. Clint can take a quick bath and get dressed and we can watch a movie together.” Steve seemed to sure up with a plan in place and quickly led them out of Phil’s apartment. Phil paused in the living room for several long moments, not wanting to intrude on Steve’s privacy. But soon after Steve and Clint disappeared around the corner, Clint called, “Phil?”

So hesitantly, Phil followed them in. Steve’s bedroom didn’t look all that different from either Clint’s or Phil’s and Phil didn’t know why he expected it too. Steve had other people over - he wouldn’t keep Clint’s little stuff just out and everywhere. By the time he reached the bathroom, it was a different story.

Clint was armpit deep in bubbles with a ridiculous number of bath toys around him. Steve had rolled up his sleeves and was playfully making a loofah shaped like an elephant check Clint’s ears for mice. All trace of tears and shyness were gone, and how on earth did Steve work that magic?

Steve smiled over at Phil, acting for all the world like this was the most normal thing to ever happen. Phil sat down on the toilet, retrospectively glad that the top was down.

“Daddy, stop!” Clint squealed as Steve moved the loofah to his armpits. Clint seemed ridiculously happy to be in the bath, not complaining when Steve washed his face or hair. He grew momentarily shy and awkward when Steve’s hand disappeared under the bubbles to clean Clint’s lower half. But from the glances Clint shot his way at that point, that had more to do with Phil than with Steve.

By the time Clint was clean, Steve and the bath mat were drenched. Steve seemed neither surprised nor angry at this development. Phil thought what he would be like, with Clint splashing him like that. He’s probably bop him on the head and tell him to calm down. But that didn’t seem to be what Clint needed. Steve extracted Clint from the tub and wrapped him in an oversized towel that dwarfed even Clint’s tall, muscular frame.

“Clint, do you want some privacy to get dressed?” Steve asked, which Phil thought was an odd question. Why would Clint want privacy for dressing, but not for bathing or post-bathing nudity?

To Phil’s confusion, Clint blushed and nodded, hiding his face in Steve’s neck.

“Phil, would you mind waiting for us in the living room? We won’t be long.”

“Of course, not.” Phil answered, still thinking through his confusion but not getting any closer to an answer. He sat on the couch, once again surprised by the lack of kid stuff. He had an urge to start going through Steve’s cupboards and closets to find it, but restrained himself.

Steve had been truthful about their time frame, and he emerged soon with Clint, who was dressed in a pair of pajamas patterned with astronaut puppies. Phil was starting to sense a theme with little Clint’s interests.

“I’m gonna grab us some quick dinner,” Steve said, Clint balanced precariously on his hip. Clint had calmed some, and had his head on Steve’s shoulder, a well loved purple blanket clutched to his chin. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just water,” Phil found himself saying. The pair disappeared into the kitchen. There was the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, the microwave beeping, glasses being put down, and the low rumble of Steve’s voice. Again, Steve had been honest about the time frame and they returned ten minutes later, this time with Clint walking behind Steve. His gait was a little wider and clumsier than usual, and Phil wondered if that was typical of Clint when he was little.

Steve set a tray and two glasses down. The tray appeared to hold a pile of muffins covered with cheese and pepperoni.

“They’re cauliflower pizza bites,” Steve said, sitting down on the couch and tucking Clint into the corner of the couch. “I adapted the recipe from stuff I found online. Little Clint isn’t always the biggest fan of his vegetables.” Clint, Phil could see now, was still holding the purple blanket and what seemed to be a sippy cup of milk. Steve set one of the pizza bites on a napkin, broke off a bite-sized piece and held it up to Clint’s lips. Clint opened his mouth, letting Steve feed him. Clint hated anyone touching his food. _Hated it_. Phil had tried to work on it with him, but it was such an old habit, from days when food was never regular and people might honestly steal it. But there was Clint, eating out of Steve’s hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Phil vaguely registered JARVIS lowering the lights and starting a movie, but his gaze and attention were fixed on Steve and Clint and one more of Steve’s tiny miracles. _Steve was eating from the same muffin and Clint wasn’t nervous or stressed or anything._

Eventually the novelty faded, though the awe and simmering jealousy did not. He couldn’t keep his mind on the movie though. What else had Steve helped Clint with that Phil had never been able to fix, no matter how hard or long he tried? In just nine months, too. It wasn’t fair, that Steve could just come in and fix these things. Phil had loved Clint for a long time. Why hadn’t that been enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I finally figured out how AO3 spaces things! Ill be going back and fixing the spacing on the other chapters/stories.   
> As always, thanks for reading, commenting, and kudoing! Happy Wednesday to all of you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the big one guys. By which I mean this is the one where shit gets put out in the open. This one will be pretty fundamental to understanding Phil and Steve's relationship for the rest of the story. As always, thanks for reading, commenting, and kudoing.

Clint’d been gone the last two weekends. The first time, Steve thought it was a coincidence. But the second time, when they’re sitting down for breakfast and Natasha asked Clint how his weekend with Phil was, Steve saw a smirk that looked oddly smug on Phil’s face when Clint said  _ great.  _

Steve tried to talk himself out of it - that he was just imagining things, because he missed Clint and it was easier to blame Phil than Clint. But then Clint was up in his rooms Tuesday night and, well. He wasn’t imagining things.  

They were just eating burritos and watching something Clint called the  _ end all be all of shitty reality tv shows _ . It didn’t make a lot of sense to Steve. There were a lot of very orange people using words that had to be made up and doing really stupid stuff. But Clint liked to watch it and drink beer after a particularly long day, so Steve didn’t complain. 

Clint did complain, that night, when the show flipped to the commercials. 

“So, uh, Phil asked me away this weekend again.”

Steve froze and his heart skipped a beat.  _ Definitely not a coincidence _ , he thought. 

“But um, well, I need some little time.” Steve softened a little bit, and he patted Clint’s shoulder and Clint smiled at him, a frustrated look in his eye. “And...well...this isn’t something Phil and I are very good at talking about, but I really need it.” 

Steve knew that, because Clint’s laundry bin had been heaped a little higher than it usually was, these days, when he came up tonight. 

“And, uh, I was wonderin’ if you could talk t’him for me?” Clint asked, looking awkward. Steve felt a little awkward too - he didn’t like sticking his nose into Phil and Clint’s relationship (or anyone’s relationship, really.) And also, it was important that Phil and Clint be able to talk about this stuff together, to have good communication between them. If Steve knew anything it was that communication could solve almost any problem. 

With that in mind he said, “I’ll talk to him with you, but I don’t think it’s my place otherwise.”

Clint sighed and took another sip of his beer. “Yeah, guesso.”

Steve patted his back and offered, “You wanna stay the night? As big Clint, since we have the meeting and training in the morning.” Sometime in the year Phil had been gone, Clint and Steve had a fierce argument about Clint hiding in the vents where no one could get to him if he was hurt or in danger. They had eventually compromised. With Tony’s (very sarcastic and amused) help, Steve had designed a series of nests. Sometimes, when Clint needed to know someone was close by, but didn’t want to (or couldn’t) be little, he’d sleep in the nest in Steve’s rooms. 

Clint sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t look like he’d been sleeping that well. 

“Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks Steve.”

“Anytime, pal. I’ll set up a meeting with Phil, okay?” Clint nodded, trusted it to Steve’s hands, and turned his attention back to the tv. Steve sent a quick email off to Phil before gratefully joining his friend. 

*

He’d set the conversation (not really a meeting - he’d used casual language and made sure Phil knew this was about Clint, Steve, and him,  _ not  _ Hawkeye, Captain America, and Agent Coulson. Names helped define things) for three that afternoon, so they had time to recover from training but also plenty of time before dinner and movies that night. 

As always, Phil showed up promptly at the assigned time. 

“Hey, Phil. Thanks for comin’.”

“Of course,” Phil said, stepping in and doing that careful looking-not looking he did every time he came to Steve’s apartment. Steve had no idea what Phil was looking for, but he never seemed to find it. 

This time, Steve pretended it was about Clint, which is his usual go to approach with Phil. 

“Still waiting on Clint. Why don’t you come into the kitchen, I’ll make some coffee. Clint’ll let himself in.”

Phil did that little thing where he somehow managed to look like a bird who’d had his feathers ruffled or a cat who’d been pet the wrong way. Steve didn’t really know if the look could be called jealousy, but he didn’t really know what else to call it.  But Phil didn’t say anything (he never did) but followed Steve into the kitchen and took a seat. 

The awkward silence swallowed up the room as Steve puttered around, making coffee with the fancy machine Tony insisted on. By now he knew how everybody in the tower took their coffee, so at least he didn’t have to awkwardly ask Phil that. Though, it might have broken the silence, now that Steve was thinking about it. The good thing about the silence was the Steve could clearly hear when Clint opened the door. There was some quick puttering around and an opening and closing of doors which probably meant Clint had brought more laundry, which was way more laundry than Clint had to do since the week Phil had gotten back. Okay, now Steve was feeling just a little mad. 

Clint joined them a moment later, already looking tense and awkward. He helped himself to a glass of apple juice which Steve found telling. He wondered if Phil found it telling too, but a glance at the man revealed nothing - he was just as inscrutable as ever, just a pleasant little smile on his face. It was clear why Phil managed some of the most dangerous and volatile people in the world, Steve thought as Clint sat, picking a spot halfway between Steve and Phil. 

“You wished to discuss something?” Phil asked, voice blank, directing the question at Steve. 

“Actually, Clint had some things he needed to talk about, but...uh, wanted a little support, I guess.”

Phil ruffled again.  _ Yeah, that wasn’t the best phrasing _ , Steve thought.  _ But at least it’s true.  _

“Clint?” Phil prompted. 

Clint fidgeted in his seat, folding his edges in like the beginning of a paper crane. 

Steve lay a hand over Clint’s, and yes, he knew that probably wasn’t helping Phil at all, but Steve wasn’t here for Phil. He was here for Clint. 

“Uhm,” Clint started, “Y’know I love spendin’ time with you Phil. I really do. But...but the weekends, well the weekends are when I… when I play. And I -”

“This is about him.” Phil interrupted, voice steely. It was clear that the  _ him _ was Steve. And it was more anger than Steve had heard from Phil except when Phil had learned about Clint’s change in agent status. 

“Wha? No!” Clint said, looking surprised. 

“It is!” Phil demanded. “You never used to need this. You never used to need anything. The only thing that’s changed is him!”

“That’s not true!” Clint said. 

“It is, he’s made you this way and taken you out of the field and you don’t even see it -” 

“No!” Clint yelled, standing abruptly. Phil sat back, but his eyes were like ice. Steve could feel the tension like one of Thor’s lightning bolts and every instinct in him cried for him to relieve the stress, to soothe the hurts, to make this go away. But he couldn’t, because Clint and Phil had been waiting to have this conversation for too long. 

“I’ve always needed this!” Clint continued. “I didn’t have the words, then. And I needed lots of things, I just didn’t know how to fucking ask for them, so I just took them because that’s what I had to do.” Clint rubbed a hand over his face, body folded so tight it was trembling with the effort and Steve longed to  _ soothe  _ to take Clint and make all the hurts go away, to make up for everything terrible that had ever happened. “And I have changed. Loki fucking broke me. He smashed my brain into tiny little pieces and then he took you -” Clint broke off on a choked sob, which he quickly swallowed. Steve suddenly remembered Phil saying  _ I’ve never seen him cry _ and how was that even possible, because Clint had been holding all of this hurt for so long. “He took you from me and you were the only person who ever loved me and he took you. And all that was left was me in fucking pieces, okay? That’s all there was. So no, I’m not who I was before.”

Phil was a mess. His eyes and face were no longer shuttered, and they showed pain and guilt and sorrow. He was crying. “Clint -”

“No. Let me finish. I- I need to say these things. I need you to hear me.” Clint said, though his voice was a little quieter and calmer now. Phil nodded. Steve reached behind for a tissue box, which he set within reach. Phil grabbed one and blew his nose and gave Steve a sort of  _ look _ , one that he couldn’t read. “Steve was there, and he picked me up and he put me together. Even when I was no use to the team or anyone or anything. He just loved me. Phil. No one’s ever loved me without wanting something back.” Clint said. 

And Steve knew that was more than Clint had ever said about his childhood to Phil (more than he said to anyone, really, before Steve. And Steve didn’t know how he’d earned Clint’s trust, but he valued it more than anything). Phil looked broken, the way that Steve had felt when Clint had started sharing any of this with him. And he looked enormously guilty. Clint has slumped back into his seat, exhausted by the display of emotional vulnerability, and okay, Steve can do this now. This can be his part. 

“It’s not an accusation, Phil. Love between partners is supposed to be different than of that between a parent and a child.” Clint looked up, startled, and glanced at Phil. 

“Oh. Yeah, Phil. I didn’t mean - I mean, I love you. The way you are, y’know. I -” Clint seemed to have used up his ability to express himself for the day (possibly the week, Steve thought fondly). 

“What Clint and I share is not what you and Clint share. It’s not similar in the slightest. It doesn’t need to be compared or measured or judged.”

Phil leaned back, starting to regain some of his composure. He nodded slowly. 

“I’m not saying it’s not complicated,” Steve continued. “Of course it is. But the important thing is that we both love him.”

“We both love him.” Phil echoed, nodding. 

“Yeah.” Clint breathed, smiling a little. Steve smiled back at him. 

“So Phil, you and me, we have to figure out how to share someone we love so much. But we also have to figure out how to let Clint get what he needs without feeling torn.”

“I haven’t been very good at that.” Phil admitted, looking a little wry. 

Clint chuckled, “Nah, me neither. Steve’s good at that, though. It’s unfair how good he is - he knows what everyone needs before they even ask. He’ll help us.” 

Phil chuckled back, smiling. 

Steve smiled. 

_ Alright,  _ he thought,  _ this I can do. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Here is your Wednesday chapter. Quick notes; brief and mild sexual content between Clint and Phil at the beginning of this chapter, if anyone is sex-repulsed or otherwise sensitive. In this chapter (as in a couple others) Phil has some pre-conceived notions about age play that aren't correct/fully formed. This is a part of his character and growth and not my personal thoughts/feelings. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, commenting, and kudoing!

He really loved making out with Clint, Phil thought fuzzily to himself as Clint rolled them over so Clint was on top. Clint waggled his eyebrows at him and Phil laughed, full bellied and free like he could only do with Clint. Clint mischievously leaned in to bite Phil’s earlobe, which Clint knew perfectly well made Phil go crazy. He danced his hands up under Clint’s shirt, stroking each scar as he found it, mapping them to tell a story Phil knew as well as his own. It wasn’t long before both of their shirts disappeared, and Clint had made quick work of Phil’s pants. (Phil didn’t know how many people could undo a button with their teeth, but it was a highly underrated skill.) Phil quickly returned the favor, pushing Clint’s jeans down and out of the way. However, when he went to remove Clint’s underwear, Clint froze and rolled off him. Phil froze too, immediately concerned. It had been a long time since he’d accidentally hit one of Clint’s triggers and he couldn’t think of anything that he done and had Clint developed new triggers in the year he’d been gone and how was he only discovering them now, because it had been like three months since he got back and…

Okay, he was freaking out a little bit. 

“Clint?” Phil asked cautiously, sitting up. Clint had his back to him, but Phil could tell that he’d brought his hands up to cover his face. “Did I do something wrong?”  

“Fuck, no.” Clint said, spinning towards Phil. His face was red in the dim light coming in from the living room. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was good. It was great.”

“Okay then,” Phil said slowly shifting forwards, “Then what’s wrong?”

Again Clint’s hand went up to rub over his face. 

“It’s...fuck, sorry. It’s just embarrassing.”

“Clint…” Phil trailed off, not sure exactly what to say. He’d seen Clint in so many experiences that could be considered embarrassing, and his lover had never shown an ounce of shame. So what could it possibly be?

“I have a rash.” Clint muttered from behind his hands. 

“A rash?” 

Clint nodded mutely.

“Look, Clint, unless it’s an STD I’m not going to have a problem with a rash.” Phil said, still confused. Clint regularly wore skin tight leather pants - rashes happened. 

“I have a  _ diaper  _ rash.” Clint mumbled, voice muted and clearly embarrassed. 

_ What? _

“What?” Phil asked. A diaper rash, but… that didn’t make any sense, unless...but surely Steve or Clint would have said something before now. 

“I, oh god, this is the worst, I wear - fuck, I hate this. I wear diapers when I’m little. ”

Or not. Phil sat back, not sure what to think or feel. Diapers had always been one of the things that struck him as kinda weird about the whole age play thing. Since he and Clint barely talked about it  _ before _ , he hadn’t had to consider that it might be something his partner would... _ like? Need? Want?  _

Clint seemed to take Phil’s silence as a rejection, because he groaned into his hands, and said, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave. I know it’s fucking weird.”

“Clint. Wait, just give me a minute to process, okay?” Phil said clearly. Clint blinked at him over his hands, eyes hooded and radiating shame. “I...I didn’t know that was something you did, uhm, with Steve.”

Clint sighed out a long breath and rubbed his hands over his face. 

“Yeah, uh, yeah it is. Do we really have to talk about this?”

Phil really wanted to say no, but…

“It’s affecting our sex life, so yes, we do.” 

“Dammit. Okay, yeah. I, uhm, uh, have more, y’know,  _ issues  _ when I’m little. Steve says it’s cause my brain’s all relaxed and shit, like that I sleep more deeply or somethin’. So I wear them at night, to, y’know, help. And, uh, fuck. I don’t know if I can explain all this that good.”

Phil paused. And then asked, “Do you want me just to talk to Steve about it?”

Clint flushed all the way down to his chest. “I’m big,” He said rather defensively.

“Maybe we should talk about it all together?”

Clint sighed again, “Yeah, guesso.”

Phil directed his voice at the ceiling, “JARVIS where is Steve at the moment?”

“Captain Rogers is currently in his quarters. Shall I ask him to come down?”

“No, we’ll go up. Will you let him know we’re coming?” Phil gathered his clothes, hearing Clint do the same on the other side of the bed. 

 

They took the elevator up in awkward silence. Steve was waiting for them at the door. 

“Hey,” Steve smiled at them, but his eyes were narrowed and he was clearly reading the tension between them. “JARVIS said you needed to talk? Let’s go sit in the kitchen, I’ll get you both some water.” Clint and Phil follow him in, take seats on either side of the table and staring at the wood grain. Phil started momentarily when Steve set his glass of water down. 

“So, clearly something is up. What did you guys need to talk about?” How did Steve always sound so calm? 

The silence was piercing. 

“Clint?” Steve prompted. Phil glanced up. Clint had his hands around his water glass, but the edges of his body had folded tight into the center like they always did when he was uncomfortable and defensive. 

“Uhm, Phil found out about my rash and then I had to tell him about my diapers but I couldn’t really and he had questions and I dunno.” Clint let out in one breath. Steve blinked. 

“Take a deep breath, Clint, and start at the beginning.” 

Clint acquiesced, and then slower, started over, face flushed, “Phil and I were...uhm…”

“Being intimate.” Phil supplied. He didn’t know why it made him so happy to see Steve blush at that, but it did. Good to know that even the unflappable Captain America had his sensitive points. 

“Uh, yeah.” Clint said, taking an unsteady sip from his water. “But uhm, we were, well...I remembered my rash, and I, uh, I was ‘barrassed. And I thought, that, uh it might, y’know hurt, too.” Steve nodded, though his cheeks remained a distinctly rosy color. “So I rolled away, but Phil thought he’d done somethin’ wrong, so I had ta’ tell him about the rash. And then about the… my…”

“Your diapers,” Steve finished, sitting back and taking a sip of his own water. Clint nodded miserably. “Does that about cover it, Phil?”

Phil nodded, “Yes. Usually I wouldn’t feel that I had to know about what Clint and you do when he is little, but given that this was-is affecting our sex life...Well, I had some questions.”

“Perfectly fair,” Steve said. His blush was already starting to fade, damn him. “Clint, you’re okay with talking openly to Phil about this?”

Clint nodded, but Steve said, voice firm, “I’m going to need a verbal answer, Clint.”

“Yes, it’s okay.” Clint said softly. Phil accidentally met his gaze and ducked his head to stare at the table. 

“Alright. Well then, Phil, why don’t you ask  your questions and Clint and I will do our best to answer them.”

“I’m not sure that my questions are that concrete or well formed,” Phil said, sighing. “I was a little surprised, I guess. I didn’t know it was a part of your play.”

Steve made a affirming noise under his throat, and Phil gained a little courage.

“Clint was saying that he has more issues when he’s little, at night?” The sentence had started as a statement, but somehow it came out of Phil like a question.

“Yes,” Steve said. “I have a couple theories about that, but nothing concrete.”

“What theories?” Clint asked, blinking up at both of them. 

“Well, I’ve talked to the others who had Loki control them,” Clint made a horrified little moan, and Steve said firmly and directly at Clint, “ _ Not  _ in any detail. I just asked them about their experience. As it happens, all of them experienced at least a brief period of continence issues following the event.”

“Really?” Clint interrupted, voice hopeful. Phil glanced over at him. He wondered how much all of this had been eating Clint up inside. 

“Yes,” Steve said with a nod. “They also experienced some sensitivity to certain stimuli, though which stimuli varied. Most of them also have had, so far, permanent increased emotional sensitivity and reduced resistance to stress.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this?” Clint asked, just as Phil was about to ask the same. 

Steve looked over at Clint, eyes serious and solemn. “They were a part of my assessments and the testing we did, a while ago. You’d told me before that you didn’t want to know what I wrote in my assessment about you or the results of your tests.”

_ What tests,  _ Phil desperately wanted to ask. He tucked it away to ask later. 

Clint fidgeted, but nodded. “And,” Steve continued, “This was something I could hold for you.”

“Yeah…” Clint sighed. 

“My theory is that, for Clint, who had a pre-existing little side where his mental and physical boundaries are already relaxed, most of these side effects got siphoned off to that part of him and mostly emerge when Clint is little.”

“That seems to make sense,” Phil said thoughtfully. He wondered if Thor knew anymore about how the mind control had worked and the effects it might have. 

As if reading his mind, Steve said, “Thor’s info seems to back this theory up. But, theories aside, part of what Clint gets from being little is for me to hold things that he normally has to worry or think about.”

Phil had never heard it explained in quite that way before. Though, to be fair, he had only read the one chapter and a couple online things before getting scared away by the pictures of young women in too short skirts, sucking pacifiers or showing off diapers. It made a lot of sense, put that way. Because Clint had always had to carry himself, always seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Why shouldn’t he have someone else help him hold it for a while?

“Early on in our relationship we agreed that diapers were one way for me to help take some responsibility from Clint,” Clint was back to staring at the table, a delicate blush coating his cheeks and nose. “We also found that the more often Clint was little, and the more relaxed he was about accidents,” Clint let out a humiliated little whine, and Steve patted his hand apologetically, but continued, “when he was little, the less he had them when he was big. It seemed a good enough system to deal.”

Phil sat back, letting all of the new information sink in, from the theories about Clint’s mental state and recovery to the reasoning behind the diapers (which had, truthfully, been freaking Phil out a little bit). 

“Do you have any other questions?” Steve asked, leaning back in his seat and taking another sip of his water. 

Phil thought. He didn’t really. Except…”When will the diaper rash heal?” 

Clint blushed bright red and ducked his head to the table, muttering, “Oh god.”

Steve just laughed, “Shouldn’t be too long, if Clint’s taking care of himself.” Both Phil and Steve turned to Clint, eyebrows raised. 

Clint threw up his hands, “I’ve created my worst nightmare!” 

Phil and Steve shared a look and started laughing. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter! Thanks for sticking with me guys, and for reading, kudoing, and leaving such wonderful and thoughtful comments.  
> See end notes for info on sequel(s) and posting schedules.

Hawkeye still goes out in the field with the Avengers, even if Steve has benched Agent Barton. Steve had seen Clint get through the Battle Of New York aright, and had since found that when he fought with the whole team, Clint was less likely to drop so hard emotionally. Steve didn’t pretend to understand the whole thing (except perhaps, that Clint had been alone when Loki got to him) but he was grateful for the difference. 

Well. He was grateful for the difference most of the time. 

Perhaps not when he was desperately waiting to get permission to see Clint in a hospital, because he’d gone and jumped off a building again. And Steve hadn’t been there to catch him, couldn’t get there to catch him. Iron Man had got him at the last minute, but. Well, it had been the last minute. 

Steve paced. He could feel Phil’s eyes on him. They’d sent everybody else home to care to their own, minor, injuries. They’d all put up a bit of a fuss but had quieted when Steve snapped at them. Steve tried not to snap, he really did, but he only had room to worry about one person right then and that was Clint. 

“Clint Barton?” Steve rushed over, Phil not far behind him.

The doctor nodded. He wasn’t SHIELD, but he was associated and vetted, as was this entire hospital. 

“He’s awake and alert now. We needed to wait to check for concussion and for the brain scans and x-rays came back. Brain scans match the ones taken several months ago,” Steve nodded. He’d had Clint scanned as he started to realize how deep the damage Loki had done went. “And only a minor concussion, which is a small miracle. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad?” Steve demanded. 

The doctor sighed, “Two broken ribs, broken leg, and some bruising and scrapes along his left side. Had to put some stitches in his arm, but other than that, nothing major. He’s already casted and wrapped - we know how you SHIELD folks like to do it. He’s ready to go, anytime. The nurse will give you the medications and instructions.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. Not great, but better than he’d expected. At least he could take him home and start pampering him right away.

 

They followed the doctor into the room. Clint was sitting up, which was good to see. He looked a little worse for wear, and it was clear they had them on some good drugs (he was little loopy around his eyes), but seemed alright. 

“Da-” Steve’s stomach dropped, eyeing the two nurses in the room. “Steve!” Clint corrected at the last moment, “Phil! Hi!”

“Hey bud,” Steve greeted. “Did they give you the good stuff?”

One of the nurses laughed and Steve shot her a wink. As always, he was surprised by the blush and awkwardness that followed. Oh well. 

“Yeah. S’good!” Steve held back a chuckle of his own. “But I’m ready to get outta here.”

The nurses excused themselves, saying they’d be back shortly with Clint’s medications and care instructions. Phil sat on the edge of the bed, careful eyes scanning Clint’s body. 

“We’ll get you home. Japanese samurai and tacos tonight?” Phil offered. Steve was surprised. Did Phil really think -  _ he did _ . They hadn’t had any major injuries since Phil got back. But medications and hurts usually, not always, but usually equaled little Clint. And with the sort of care Clint was going to need…

Clint blinked at Phil, glanced to Steve and then back to Phil. 

Phil looked back and forth between the two of them and leaned back, “Am I missing something?”

“Uhm,” Clint mumbled. “I just - I usually go with Steve when I’m hurt bad.”

“I can take care of you,” Phil insisted. 

“Course you can,” Clint said reassuringly. Steve didn’t agree, thinking of the logistics of just getting Clint into bed. “It’s just - I’m going to need a lot of help.”

“I’ve helped you before.”

Clint blushed a little. “I’m going to need help showering and getting in bed and getting dressed and everything.”

Phil raised an eyebrow as if to say,  _ so? _ Sometimes, Steve thought, Phil could be really dense. 

“Clint’s going to need a lot of help with the bathroom.” Steve said firmly. “ Which I am better equipped to handle, plus any...issues that may come up along with it.” Phil’s eyes swung to him, and it took a moment, but he flushed. 

“Oh.” 

Clint blushed a little harder and fiddled with his t-shirt in a familiar tell. Little Clint was right there on the edge, and resisting the urge to suck his thumb. 

“It’s not that we think you’re not capable,” Steve lied smoothly, “It’s just that it would probably be easier for everyone for me to take over.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, shaking his head. “I just don’t think I’m going to be able to let him out my sight.”

Which. Well, fair. Steve wouldn’t be able to either. He turned to look at Clint, who was trying very, very hard not to be little in that moment according to every tell Steve had for little Clint. 

He sighed, and offered, “Well, you’ve been around little Clint before. I don’t see why this should be any different. If it’s alright with Clint?” Both Steve and Phil looked over at him, and Steve wondered what Phil saw in that moment - did he still see his partner and lover? Could he not see the way Clint’s eyes had lightened and his shoulders drooped and his ribs sat a little wider? Steve didn’t know. 

“Guesso.” Clint mumbled. 

Which is how he ended up with Phil two steps behind him as he carried Clint inside. (They’d been offered a wheelchair and declined - Clint would never use it anyway. And they had plenty of crutches at the tower.) 

Phil continued to be two steps behind him all the way to the door to his bedroom, when Steve paused. 

“Could you just give us a couple minutes, Phil? I’m going to change Clint’s clothes.” Phil seemed about to protest, before flushing as if just then remembering what little Clint sometime wore under his clothes. Clint blushed too, and was already protesting as the door closed. 

“Don’t need nuthin’ Daddy. I’ll tell you.” Steve gently set his boy down of the best, grabbing some pillows to support his leg and side. 

“You might fall asleep.” Steve said as he gathered Clint’s little boxes from the closet (neither of which was that little.) He grabbed diapering supplies and some of Clint’s oldest and softest pjs out of one of the boxes. 

“You can change me then,” Clint garbled around his thumb (which had entered his mouth as soon as Phil was out of sight.) 

“Lovebug, I know you’re a big boy. But you’re pretty banged up right now, so you just gotta trust Daddy okay? I’m gonna take this for a little bit.” Clint seemed about ready to agree when he spotted the diaper, rather than a pull up, in Steve’s hand. 

“Not a  _ baby _ .” He whined quietly. Steve sat next to him and gently rubbed his unbroken leg. 

“I know you aren’t. But even grown ups wear diapers when they get hurt bad.”

Clint whined and rubbed a fist over his eye, which was bruised. He winced. Steve gently pulled that hand back and leaned in to kiss the bruise. 

“Dun want Phil to see,” He admitted, tears starting to leak out of the corners of his eyes. 

“Phil knows you wear diapers sometimes, buddy.” Steve murmured softly. 

“At night,” Clint protested. “Not during the day. He’ll think I’m weird or gross or a  _ baby _ .”

“I don’t think Phil will think any of those things. I think he’ll be glad that you’re taking care of yourself.”

Clint whimpered, but it was a hurt whimper, not an embarrassed whimper and he started to cry a little harder. 

“I know, lovebug. You’re hurting pretty bad, aren’t you? Daddy’s got this okay.” Clint nodded tearfully. 

Steve took a minute to push Clint’s hair away from his forehead and give him a kiss before quickly gathering a washcloth, a bowl of warm water, and some baby soap. Clint was still crying when he returned, but it was very quietly. 

With the sort of gentleness he usually reserved for glass and china, Steve gently drew Clint out of the hospital scrubs he was wearing. His whole left side was a collection of darkening bruises and scrapes. A pristine white bandage wrapped his ribs tight. Clint had, no surprise, chosen a purple cast for his leg, which nicely matched his developing bruises. Steve used the washcloth to rid Clint of the worst of the remaining battle grime. The gentle touch and warm water seemed to soothe his boy, who was half asleep under the ministrations. 

Steve quickly and deftly dried and dressed Clint. The pjs were thin enough that the diaper was visible if you were looking for it, but they were soft and light on Clint’s damaged skin, so Steve wasn’t about to change him. Instead he gathered Clint’s blankie and a large fleece blanket patterned with stars. He tucked the blankie into Clint’s hands and wrapped him in the fleece one. 

“Clint-rrito?” Clint asked sleepily, snuggling closer as Steve picked him up. 

“That’s right,” Steve smiled at the memory, when Clint and he had just started playing and Steve had wrapped him up in a towel and pretended he was a burrito. He’d never seen Clint laugh so hard before. “My little Clint-burrito.” 

Clint sighed, tucking his head into Steve’s neck and sucking on his thumb. Steve opened the door to his bedroom and was not surprised to find Phil waiting right there. Clint tucked his head in deeper, probably to hide the thumb. 

“He’s okay?” Phil asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve reassured, leading him into the kitchen. “Took a look at all the damage. It’ll take a while, but he’ll heal up.”

“Will he be...little the whole time?” Phil asked tentatively, watching with curious eyes as Steve grabbed a sippy cup out of the cupboard. 

“No, probably not. Maybe the next week? He once went a week and a half, but he had a concussion that time, so that probably affected it.” Steve didn’t say that Clint would probably stay with him for the next two weeks, little or big, because Clint really couldn’t relied upon to make it the bathroom when he was hurt. Phil didn’t need to hear that right then. 

As Steve struggled to open the fridge and grab the milk one handed, Phil’s hands were suddenly taking the milk from him and pouring it into the cup. Steve smiled in gratitude and used his now free hand to gently rub Clint’s back, staying away from the bruised side. 

He slowly carried Clint back into the living room, asking JARVIS to put on  _ Little Einsteins  _ and settling himself and Clint on the couch, Clint still wrapped in the fleecy blanket  and tucked tight into Steve. 

“Come on out of there,” Steve cajoled. “We’ve got some milk for you. We’ll watch a little tv, too.” Clint poked his head out slightly. Steve rarely allowed tv because he’d rather Clint spend his time playing, but on occasion it was appropriate. It made a bit of a treat for Clint too, making sick and hurt times not quite so miserable. 

Steve accepted the sippy cup from Phil, who continued to watch them with measured eyes. Steve bent his body to support Clint’s, and held the milk up. Clint pulled it closer to him using the hand not holding his blankie and took a couple long, slow sips. He blinked lazily up at Steve and handed the cup back. 

“Phil, would you mind grabbing a couple pillows from the bed?”

“Sure,” Phil said, getting to his feet. He came back moments later with four pillows piled up in his arms. Issuing soft directions, Steve got Phil to place three of them around Clint as Steve lifted and moved his sleep-malleable boy. 

“Could you put the last one in your lap and prop his leg up?” Steve asked. 

Phil did as asked, and they both turned their attention to the tv. The characters were making the rocket ship launch through the power of song. Steve rolled his eyes and leaned back to look down at Clint, who looked entranced (though that could be the drugs talking.) Steve rubbed his thumb along Clint’s temple and looked down his body to see Phil gently massaging Clint’s healthy ankle. 

_ We both love him _ , Steve thought. 

  
_ fin.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of Sharing. It is possible that I might come back to this time period, with Phil and Steve figuring things out. I don't know how I'd post such things, so I'd subscribe to the whole series if you want to be alerted. 
> 
> The first chapter of the sequel will be posted on Monday. The sequel will bring us to CA: TWS and I'm super excited about it, so I hope you guys are too! I'll be posting chapters Mondays and Fridays until it's complete. I'll likely post supporting one-shots every other Wednesday while posting the sequel. Hope to see you all there! 
> 
> Also I'm on [tumblr](https://imdefinitelyyourcat.tumblr.com/) now I guess. I'm pretty new to it, so come say hi! I mostly reblog stucky things and CA:CW feels. (It is NOT a spoiler free zone).


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